Sometimes Mountains

How can it be that 35 years have passed since I first read this poem by my good friend, John Workman?  

On Saturday mornings in Little Rock John and I took  bike rides and enjoyed good conversations as we peddled out of town along undeveloped roads that have long ago disappeared and become streets of upper class suburbs.  We talked of many things - and laughed a lot... 

John, a religion editor for the local newspaper, had both thoughtful insights on life and faith, as well as a good sense of humor.  Many readers would get the Saturday morning paper and go directly to John's article even before looking at the front page headlines.  

Besides riding his bicycle on long trips, in later years he got a motorcycle and took a long trip to Montana.  That is when and where he may have gotten the inspiration for this poem.  

These days I can look out the window of our house in Butte, Montana and see mountains.  I am blessed by mountains, not just sometimes, but every day!  A few days ago I went with my 87 year old neighbor, another John, up to a mountain lake and caught a dozen cut-throat trout.  With no one else around on that spring day, I enjoyed the serenity and a rushing in my soul that John writes about. 

Here is John's  poem which I found stuck behind the back cover of a book of poetry we've had on our book shelf for years.  Judy, my wife and mountain lover, had saved it.

Sometimes Mountains 

Sometimes when driving the plains -

those long, rolling interminable spaces -

I think for a fleeting moment

that far off in the dim, distant horizon,

shimmering through heat waves,

I can see mountains.

Mountains!

Abrupt, rugged peaks

rising to where the air is thin

and the tree line is far below

and the snow lies in undisturbed serenity.

A rushing in my soul.

Sometimes when sleep comes late at night

and through my open window

the breeze hums her lovely melody,

I think for a passing moment

that I can hear the wind

racing over the high mountain pass.

I hear it changing key from spruce to aspen

and rushing on

to ruffle hues on the mountain meadows

and dapple the face of solitary snow-watered lakes.

A quickening in my chest.

Sometimes when the meetings are long

and the speakers drone on and on,

I close my mind and open my heart and think

that I can feel the trail under my boots,

my pack deliciously heavy against my back

and my legs straining on the zig-zag climb.

And I look up and know that the summit is over the ridge above.

A smile on my face and in my heart.

Strange it is with mountains

They are so very much more than they are.

 John Workman, August, 1981

I'll Pray for you

Some years ago as we were finishing a hearty meal with a group of friends, one of the guests, an elderly gentleman and beloved member of the congregation, said, "Well, now I have something to say."  That caused a  pause in the lively banter and conversation of the meal and we all became silent, awaiting and curious as to what announcement Martin was about to make, as Martin was not one to waste words.  Then he said, "You don't have to pray for me anymore, I'm fine",  and he said this quite emphatically.  

Martin was living with the reality of cancer and his name had been on the prayer list and included in the prayers of the Church for the last several months.  We were somewhat dumbfounded at this request to "not" be prayed for, rather than a more usual request for and thankfulness that he was being prayed for. 

It turned out that Martin was embarrassed to hear his name mentioned publicly in the prayers.   I supposed this was at least partially a reflection of an ingrained humility which was almost bred into him from his Norwegian Lutheran heritage and upbringing.  So we just continued to pray for him "in secret".

More recently we experienced negative feedback from someone for telling her we were praying for her.  Judy told this person she had been praying for her and found out that this was taken as an insult, a sort of indication that we thought there was something wrong with her.  

So is there a risk in saying  "I'll pray for you" to someone?  I have always thought there is, but more along the lines of my own failure to remember to pray.  Like in, "Oh no, I said I would pray for Jim, but the truth is, I haven't thought about Jim nor prayed for him for days now"!

Of course, I suspect I also have creeping doubts that my intercessory prayer will do any good!    Yet, I try!  Try to remember to pray daily for those who are most beloved and closest to me, especially my children and grand kids - though they generally don't know that I am praying for them.  It is done in secret, so to speak.   

Occasionally   we also find ourselves praying for people who themselves don't believe in prayer.  Well, Jesus did say something about going into our closet and praying in secret…  so we can be a bit subversive about it all - no need to tell the other that we are praying for them.  

Douglas Steere, a Quaker, wrote in his classic book, Dimensions of Prayer,[1]

 "Intercession is the most intensely social act of which the human being is capable.  When carried on secretly, it is mercifully preserved from, in fact, almost immunized against, the possible corruptions to which all outer deeds of service for others are subject."

I sometimes feel like I am coping out by saying "I'll pray for you", because there is so much the other person (s) may need that I can do nothing about but to pray.  If I am moved to pray for Syrian refugees, for example, I am tempted to wonder what possible good my little pittance of a prayer will do.   But then I am prompted to respond with about the only action available to me… i.e. write a check to a trusted relief agency like Lutheran World Relief.

Douglas Steere also wrote, "If we want to stay out of personal involvement, intercessory prayer should be instantly scratched from our list; there is nothing that brings us into the scene like intercessory prayer, even when it is done entirely in secret."

What happens when we pray is that our souls are interconnected …  and, in turn, we are connected with God.  I don't always know what the deepest need of the other person is, but God does, so I can simply pray for him or her…. "according to their need". 

Tennyson, the poet, wrote… "More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of…."

---

[1] Douglas V. Steere, Dimensions of Prayer, Upper Room Books, Nashville,1962

What will you be doing when you are 98?

We received many greetings and Christmas letters from friends and family this past season, but none quite as interesting as one from Brynhild Rowberg, a cousin (several times removed) on the Aaker side of the family.  Her letter got me to think about how to relish and enjoy life - way into old age.

Margaret Mead said, "If you associate enough with older people who do enjoy their lives, who are not stored away in any golden ghettos, you will gain a sense of continuity and of the possibility for a full life."

I thought I would share Brynie's letter here.  She wrote:

In August, I observed, not celebrated, my 98th birthday at three successive, cheerful luncheons with friends and relatives.

But, you may ask, what does one do, at 98, with the waking hours?

When I asked this question of my colleague, Roberta Meyerkort, retired to her home town of Port Gibson, MS, she replied" "I go to funerals."  So do I.  This sounds lugubrious, but at age 98 it is not.  Almost all of the deceased have lived long, happy, productive lives.  I remember the wisdom of the late actor, John Gielgud, and another expert, my dear mother.  The former once observed:"Memorial services are the cocktail parties of the geriatric set".  

My mother, having attended the funeral of her friend, Henrietta Larson, remarked: "It's not a nice thing to say, but I had a very good time at the begravelse".  (Norwegian for funeral or burial).  Henrietta had gotten a Ph.D from Columbia in the 1920's, rare for a woman, gone on to be the first woman on the faculty of Harvard School of Business.  No wonder mother enjoyed herself talking to Henrietta's many friends!

I help provide programs for the entertainment and, we like to think, enlightenment of our fellow residents at Parkview.  I've spoken on the history of Northfield (Minnesota), using lectures I prepared some years ago for a course I gave at the Northfield Elder Collegiums.  Notable people with a Northfield connection:  John North, abolitionist and founder of a least three cities; Thorstein Veblen whose phrase "conspicuous consumption" was never more applicable than it is today, Jesse James, who, alas, needs no introduction, and Gen. Adelbert Ames, Civil War general and Reconstruction Governor of Mississippi, as well as grandfather of the late George Ames Plimpton of the Paris Review. 

Other lectures were on the eleven months in 1968 which I spent involved in the negotiations which freed the crew of the USS PUEBLO, on living behind the Iron Curtain (Prague, 1950-52) and on spending Easter in Macedonia in 1954, etc.

A third devourer of time: being one of four moderators of a weekly discussion of current events.  Attendance is never below twelve, often above twenty.  I prepare for this by reading "The Economist" and "The New York Times".

Fourth Occasional trips.  No airplane travel anymore, alas, I don't really drive out of town these days.  But relatives fill the gap.  We've visited the Minneapolis Institute of Art and the Museum of Russian Art, the latter has had amazing shows on the Romanovs, Russian in World War II, icons and samovars.  (she goes on to tell of other day trips around the area of Minnesota and Wisconsin)

Fifth: Reading just for fun.. one is "The Shepherd' s Way, by James Rebanks.

Last Christmas Eve the Petersons took me to the service at Valley Grove Church, a truly picturesque church set on a hill, surrounded by fields and forests.  We enjoyed candle-light, music of organ, flute, violin, all played by retired professionals, a glowing tree and a church full of people whom I know or wished I knew…..

Note:  Brynie, as usual, also voiced some opinions on the current political scene..  (she is a life-long Minnesota liberal), but I will stop with this…  Enough to think about as I proceed through my 70s, and maybe even into my 90s.  She gives a hint on how to prepare for our own lives in advanced age… Indeed, we often hear that we should live to it's fullest to the end!

 

I am not there yet, but I hope my brain and heart are as alive and actively enjoying life when (if) I get to 98 as are Brynie's…  What about you? 

Aaker family members gathered at the farm where I grew up near Kenyon, Minnesota. The picture was taken in June, 2009 and was the last time we gathered at the farm, which had been sold.  Seated are my uncles Leonard, then age 98, Maynard, 92, Brynhild, 92, and aunt Minerva, 91.  All are now deceased with the exception of Brynie. 

Just Mercy

I have just read the book "Just Mercy:  A Story of Justice and Redemption",  by Byran Stevenson, and I recommend it.

Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body. Hebrews 13:3

For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.  Mathew 25: 35-37

In these words of Jesus written in the gospel of Mathew the message is pretty clear.  Attending to the hungry, thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick and the prisoner, whom Jesus referred to as the least of these, is like doing it for and to Jesus.  We are taught to serve the "least of these" and in every church and community where we have  lived and participated, there have always been ample opportunity for service to the needy.   In my life's work  I have done at least a bit of the first six on this list, but practically nothing of the last - visiting the prisoner.  

Only a few times, once each in Ecuador, El Salvador, and Minnesota, did I visit and try to advocate for prisoners - cases of people incarcerated unjustly.  But overall, visiting and giving comfort to prisoners is, sadly, a big void in my practice as a follower of Christ. 

Why is that?  Am I fearful and judgmental, or is it that the prisoners are so completely out of sight that I avoid them and hope I don't have to deal with them.  

One who has thrown himself into a life of working to help the incarcerated is Bryon Stevenson, the author of, "Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption."  It is a gripping memoir that personalized the struggle against injustice, racism, and mistreatment of prisoners.  He has brought comfort and release of the prisoners in numerous cases - while exposing the unfairness of the criminal justice system in this country, especially as applied to children, the poor and the black population. 

Stevenson, who is black, grew up in poverty. His great-great grand parents had been slaves in Virginia. His grandfather was murdered in a Philadelphia housing project when Stevenson was a teenager.  After college he went to Harvard Law School and developed a passion for working with  prisoners on death row.  He eventually moved to Montgomery Alabama and co-founded a non-profit called the Equal Justice Initiative. (EJI)

The book tells the stories of some of his clients.  There are many stories in this book, but the core narrative is the story of Walter McMillan who was innocent of a murder for which he was convicted and sent to death row.  McMillan lived in Monroeville, Alabama the home of Harper Lee who wrote the book “To Kill A Mockingbird.”  Stevenson also tells about several cases of children as young as age 14 who got life sentences without the possibility of parole - essentially condemned to death in prison.  Stevenson took one of these cases all the way to the United States Supreme Court in 2012. The Court held that mandatory life sentences without parole for children violated the eighth amendment.

The book tells horrific stories of injustice and suffering, but one comes to the end of most of the chapters feeling that the title gets it right… these are also stories of redemption, that brought tears to my eyes.  It is, in the end, a book of hope.  Stevenson does not write directly about his faith, but he doesn't have to… his life is a living example of the power of redemption and of accompanying the "least of those" of whom Jesus referred.  

I am sorry to say I had never heard of the EJI or Bryan Stevenson, but in reading this book, he had an impact on me.  I came away with the feeling that I should do something… and now I ponder what that might be.  Hopefully a life-time of apathy toward the prisoner can be jarred out of me, at least a little bit.